


Contemplation

by kronette



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 02, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the vague future, maybe four years from the end of series two. Completed December 29, 2009. </p>
<p>He'd kept Merlin around because he could trust him. Where that trust had come from, he knew not, but it needn't have been earned; it was implicit upon their meeting. Perhaps Merlin's sharp tongue and sharper wit had drawn them together. It had certainly earned him a place in Arthur's heart, for any man who was either courageous or stupid enough to insult his prince on a near-daily basis had his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contemplation

The fire crackled and popped but did not disturb his contemplation of the man before him.

Merlin was intent on polishing a boot by firelight, the methodical, gentle scrubbing sound almost lulling in its familiarity. His head was bent to the task, so Arthur could observe this ritual openly. The shadows and light in Merlin's tousled dark hair, made fiery in the glow. The determined set of his jaw, though Merlin's head was tilted too far down to actually confirm his observance. The long fingers moving the brush rhythmically across the instep until firelight gleamed off the surface. The somber veil that now shrouded Merlin, and no amount of infuriation or cajoling had broken through as of yet.

That newfound somberness was what drew Arthur's contemplation. Somberness, and the confidence that accompanied it. Merlin was not originally kept as his manservant for his finesse or competence. It puzzled him to this day as to why he'd not thrown Merlin out on his arse a week into his service. No, that was not fair and he would not lie to himself. He'd kept Merlin around because he could trust him. Where that trust had come from, he knew not, but it needn't have been earned; it was implicit upon their meeting. Perhaps Merlin's sharp tongue and sharper wit had drawn them together. It had certainly earned him a place in Arthur's heart, for any man who was either courageous or stupid enough to insult his prince on a near-daily basis had his attention.

He felt the pressure of a grin against his eyes and leaned forward, touching Merlin's hand. "I think it's been polished within an inch of it's life, Merlin."

"Your new servant is shite," Merlin groused as he gave the boot another good swipe or two, then held it up to the light.

"My old servant was shite," he was quick to jibe, the glare he received reflecting harmlessly off his twinkling eyes.

"Are you calling me old?" Merlin bantered, his eyes alight with mischief. "In case you have forgotten, My Lord, you are a year older than me."

"A wizened and healthy year older," he retorted, clasping Merlin's hand and drawing him to his lap. "Lest you forget that with age comes maturity."

Merlin settled quickly, comfortably, as natural as habit. "I was raised to always respect my elders, therefore I will refrain from commenting on the said maturity of My Lord," Merlin replied with a sage nod.

Fingertips whispered across the nape of his neck, yet Arthur retained his semblance of control despite the gooseflesh that rose at the touch. "You have voiced no complaints about my maturity recently," he taunted with a gentle squeeze to the thigh beneath his hand.

"I have h-had no need, Sire," Merlin stuttered, fingers emboldened to trace beneath the neck’s edge of his tunic.

The touch too light, Arthur again squeezed Merlin's thigh and murmured, "Come, Merlin, to bed with you."

"Shall I call the servant to turn down your bed?" Merlin whispered past his ear, brushing fingers through his hair and causing more gooseflesh. "What of your dress? Shall he also ready you for bed, Sire?"

Arthur's hands spanned across Merlin's waist, not so thin these past few years as it had once been, to twist him to his liking. Blue eyes bore down into his, delight shining in the reflected light, as sure of his place now as he had been all those years ago. Arthur tightened his grip, drawing a gasp from the man seated almost fully on him.  He had not been as sure and had nearly lost Merlin to the Fates, to creatures both fantastical and real, to a sickness that caused his heart to trip even to this day.

"Only you shall turn down my bed," he breathed into the skin of Merlin's throat. A gentle caress of lips on the closest earlobe accompanied his intimated, "Only you shall be privileged to ready the prince for bed."

A choked sound between a groan and a laugh issued from Merlin's throat. "I will not ready the prince for bed," he openly defied. With a light kiss, Merlin continued, "I will ready you, Arthur, for bed, and then I shall ready myself."

As Merlin's true meaning sank in, Arthur could not hold back a low moan and slouched down in his chair.

Merlin shifted naturally until he settled his arse on Arthur's thighs, bracing his hands on the back of the chair. "You desire this of me, Arthur?"

Unbidden, his fingertips dug into the firm arse that taunted him. "Always," he declared softly, pulling Merlin toward him for their first kiss that evening. The sourness of the mead was quickly chased away by the familiar taste of Merlin, tang and sweet and that something indefinable.

Their kiss grew heated and fingers became tangled in laces until both of them were laughing. "You're still hopeless, Merlin," he said, softening the tease with a kiss to the corner of the parted lips.

"As are you, my prince," Merlin teased, only his was not soothed with a kiss; instead, Arthur's lower lip was nipped and sucked until swollen and his head dizzy with need.

Eyes locked with well-known questions and their answers exchanged. Arthur's arms raised as Merlin's hands drew up the tunic, exposing the well-muscled chest to the firelight. A cursory examination by lips and tongue had Arthur's breathing ragged.

"Are you out of shape, My Lord?" Merlin teased, though his voice was unsteady as though he were shaken, too.

"Bed, Merlin," he snapped, ignoring the slight plead that sneaked into that order.

In a graceful move that still awed Arthur, Merlin stood and brought him to his feet, making swift work of the remaining boots and breeches. Only when Arthur stood naked in the firelight, did Merlin begin work on his own laces. As the time before, and as he had all the times before this moment, Arthur growled impatiently and yanked both tunic and vest over Merlin's head and tossed them aside. His narrowed eyes did nothing to deter Merlin's smirk, so with his superior build, he half-carried Merlin across the room to deposit him on the bed, ignoring the laughing protests.

"I am hardly a woman to warm your bed," came the familiar taunt.

"No, you are far more headstrong and simple," he offered the customary reply, as he stalked on hands and knees up the bed until his shadow covered Merlin.

The brow beneath him creased. "You prefer your bedmates tiresome and empty-headed? No wonder you are stuck with me, Arthur Pendragon. No one else would satisfy your odd needs."

The laugh-lines crinkled around Merlin's eyes, casting him as the younger man he once knew. The veil of somberness that had plagued Merlin now settled over Arthur, and he answered truthfully, "I would have no one else."

It was as much a declaration of his intentions as he'd ever dared voice, and the weight of it settled over them like a blanket. Merlin's eyes appeared to light from within, then without warning, he was pulled down into one of the most intense, searing kisses he'd ever experienced. Merlin was without mercy, tugging and nipping and licking until his arms shook with the need to _take_.

He pulled his head back long enough to gasp, "Now," before lying atop Merlin skin to skin, drawing his arms around his lover and rolling them over until Merlin straddled him once again, this time fully naked. It never ceased to amaze him how Merlin - or rather, his magic - could work so fast.

The soft cadence of Merlin's voice accompanied the upheld palm and soon it was full of whatever slick essence he normally conjured. Arthur didn't care to ask anymore, because now he could indulge and watch Merlin prepare himself, back arching and moans catching in his exposed throat.

Merlin's palm, with the last of the oil, then wrapped around Arthur's shaft, finalizing the preparations and signaling the return of Arthur's self-control, for surely the sight of a fire-lit-and-shadowed Merlin sitting atop him, ready for him, would cause any man to lose the fight.

His fingers gripped white into Merlin's hips as the other man lifted and then settled himself over Arthur, around Arthur, gasping as loudly as Arthur himself at being sheathed inside such heat. He rolled his hips and one of Merlin's hands slammed into the mattress behind him, gripping it so hard the linens tore.

A moaning laugh escaped him. "Don't just sit there and expect me to do all the work, Merlin."

"I'll show you work," Merlin whispered, and before Arthur could contemplate how dire his circumstances could truly get, a whirlwind of sensation spread throughout his body, sparked along his skin until he was trembling with the effort not to scream in hedonistic pleasure.

When the feelings abated to a more tolerable level, he found himself face to face with Merlin, their hands clasped white-knuckled on the bed near Merlin's head and Merlin's legs wrapped around his torso, pulling him in deeper.

"Please, Arthur, just a little more..." Merlin's voice was nothing more than a rasp, his little trick obviously affecting him just as much as it had Arthur.

He felt the rushing build-up, the ache and tension all reaching their end and snapped his hips into Merlin's, urging him on.

A choked sob and spreading warmth signaled Merlin's release. Arthur rested his head near Merlin's and pushed to finish, feeling sweat roll down his arms and face as the sudden spark caught him off-guard. With one more frantic shove into Merlin, he trembled with barely-suppressed screams.

He felt soothing touches to his back and gentle words murmured in his ear, both telling him he was well-loved and in this case, truly well-fucked out. He chuffed, "You'll be the death of me yet, Merlin..."

Instead of the self-satisfied smirk he expected Merlin to be wearing, it was a look of panicked concern. "I swear, Arthur, I'll never use magic like that again."

He cupped Merlin's chin and forced his head back, making sure he had his lover's full attention. "Oh, you'll do that again, and any time I ask it of you, is that understood?"

"But..."

His touch gentled to a caress at the nape of Merlin's neck. "Have you not learned by now, you thick-headed idiot, that I l--trust you with my life?"

Eyes widened comically, and for once he had Merlin speechless. "I should have done that years ago," he breathed, sealing his mouth over Merlin's to assure him that yes, things were okay with them.

Merlin hummed - actually hummed - and murmured, "I lo--trust you, too, Arthur."

That earned Merlin a gentle smack to the back of his head. "Idiot."

Merlin's grin widened. "Prat." His nose wrinkled as he shifted, scratching at his belly. "Ew."

Arthur couldn't help it; he laughed out loud. " _That_ is your own doing, Merlin."

Merlin's glare was nowhere near as effective as his, and only served to delight him more.

"I truly hate you, you know," Merlin uttered darkly, rising from the over-warmth of the bed to the bucket of water warming near the fireplace.

Arthur splayed across the bed in helpless laughter at Merlin's yowl. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that Merlin would get so caught up in their lovemaking that he would forget how hot the water would get before he wiped his skin clean.

As he sat up to wipe the tears from his eyes, the sopping wet cloth smacked him in the chest. "Ow!" he exclaimed, more surprised than hurt. "Is that any way to treat your prince?"

"Is that any way for my prince to act?" Merlin countered as he climbed back into bed, drawing the sheets and blankets around them in a cocoon of warmth.

He lay back with his arm under Merlin's head. " _Your_ prince? We really need to talk about this possessiveness of yours. I belong to all of Camelot."

A surprisingly warm hand laid itself over his heart and he inhaled sharply at Merlin's words. "Camelot can have the rest of you, but your heart belongs to me."

He could do no more than clasp Merlin's hand in his and rest their joined hands over his heart.

The End


End file.
